


Always Coming Back To This Place

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (my_mad_fatuation)



Series: Stay Till The A.M. [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Past Sexual Abuse, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: “Tall soy latte for Simon,” he called out once he’d put the finishing touches on the drink in his hand. He’d been working here long enough that he no longer felt a rush every time he came upon an order with the nameSimonon it—and it certainly hadn’t crossed his mind thatthiswould be the time it belonged to Simon Snow.Even when he set the latte on the counter and found those familiar blue eyes looking at him, it still didn’t cross his mind. He’d stopped looking for Simon Snow’s face so long ago that he almost didn’t recognize it now.------It's been three years since Baz has last seen or heard from Simon, but when they reconnect in a chance encounter at Baz's workplace, old feelings and old wounds resurface.





	Always Coming Back To This Place

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, many thanks to those of you who have commented on the previous part in this series. I was quite nervous about posting it because it's not my usual thing at all, so it was nice to see some people liked it. (Or that it made them cry, at least. I don't know if that's the same thing.)
> 
> This one takes place almost three years after the last one ends (so it's slightly in the future from now, like spring/summer 2019), and Baz is still living in London after he just graduated from university--and I've decided that he lives with Penny, because I never mentioned her in the first part so I figured I could throw her in here because it's _my_ AU. Also Baz hasn't seen Simon since they said goodbye at the end of part 1, but the very first scene might be a bit confusing because the timeline jumps back and forth a tiny bit, like the last one did.
> 
> Anyway, things are going to get worse before they get better, so I'm sorry about that. And from the tags you can probably assume where this is going, so if that really bothers you then please feel free not to read. (Though nothing is described in detail, just very vaguely alluded to.)

The last time that Baz fell asleep holding Simon Snow in his arms must have been at least fifteen years ago.

They were about seven years old, or so, and Simon was sleeping over at Baz’s house, like he did most Friday nights. As usual, Simon fell asleep in the top bunk and Baz in the lower one, but at some point in the middle of the night, Simon called out for Baz. He’d had a nightmare and needed someone to tell him everything was going to be okay. So Baz climbed up to the top—which he couldn’t even remember doing, the next day—and cradled Simon until he calmed down and they both fell asleep.

This time was quite similar, though. Baz had cradled Simon to calm him down, telling him everything was going to be okay, until they fell asleep. And everything would be okay. Probably. Maybe.

The thing about nightmares is that, even once they are behind you, so far behind that maybe you’ve forgotten all the details, you can still feel their echoes in waking life. Sometimes you get a chill, or feel shaken, and you aren’t sure why. How can something that wasn’t even real still have such a lasting effect?

Well, Baz could only imagine how much worse it must be when the nightmare was actually real. How the echoes would get so loud that they’d knock you right over, again and again.

Simon had been living with the echoes for almost nine years, and nobody knew. Baz hadn’t even known.

Baz hadn’t known about the echoes, but they had knocked him over, too. Again and again.

When would they stop?

***

Baz didn’t like the way that his hometown always just reminded him of things that he’d rather forget. Ghosts.

He’d moved out for good right before his second year of university, and only went back for the obligatory family gatherings. Christmas. His siblings’ birthdays. That one day every July that his step-mother insisted upon hosting a garden party for the whole extended family.

The less time he spent back home, the better. And not just because of the memories. Any time spent around his family was time spent hiding who he was. Not that he was hoping to show up at Christmas wearing a rainbow flag as a cape or anything, but it would have been nice not to have to monitor everything he said to make sure he never accidentally used the word _“boyfriend”_ or mentioned _“this guy I started seeing.”_ It would have been nice not to care.

Technically, he didn’t care. He was being financially manipulated to care.

There was no way he could have afforded to live where he wanted to in London, while he was still in university, without his father’s help. His part-time job at Starbucks certainly wasn’t going to cut it. So in exchange for his father helping with the rent, Baz would act _straight_ at family events. Mostly for the extended family, since his immediate family already knew the truth, but he found that everyone got along better when he just acted for the whole time he was home.

So he tried to avoid home as much as possible.

London was way better, anyway. There were so many more places to go and things to see, and there were people that Baz _actually_ want to hang out with. Like his flatmate, Penny.

Baz was lucky enough to have met her in their first year at university, and they’d been sharing a flat since their second, so he never had to cycle through horrible flatmate situations until he found a good one. They were both sticking around London, too, even now that they’d graduated. Baz thought that he would be fine living with Penny for the rest of his life, if neither of them found serious enough relationships to move out.

And with their track records, it was a possibility.

Living with Penny provided the added perk that his extended family thought that she was his girlfriend—and that they were living in sin, but perhaps less of a sin; Baz was a bit fuzzy on the rules, having given absolutely zero fucks about that sort of thing his entire life—and although she didn’t _love_ being Baz’s “beard” whenever any of his family visited, Penny also realized that, without Baz’s father covering more than half their total rent, she would have to find somewhere else to live. And she doubted any other flatmate she could find would be as fastidious about keeping the place tidy as Baz was.

“Plus, you’re absolutely obsessed with me,” Baz had joked when she told him that was her reason for wanting to keep him around.

“Of course. How could I forget?”

He knew that he needed to come up with a better solution, though. Find a better paying job, with his fancy new degree, and support himself instead of living under his father’s thumb. But it was easier said than done, and he still needed to pay for food and Netflix and other essentials like that, so between his suit-and-tie job interviews, he continued to work at Starbucks.

It was a bit of a slog some days, but tolerable. Baz kept himself entertained by making latte art rosettas when there wasn’t a rush of customers, even though they would get immediately covered with whipped cream or the person who ordered would slap a lid on and rush out the door. That didn’t stop him.

“Tall soy latte for Simon,” he called out once he’d put the finishing touches on the drink in his hand. He’d been working here long enough that he no longer felt a rush every time he came upon an order with the name _Simon_ on it—and it certainly hadn’t crossed his mind that _this_ would be the time it belonged to Simon Snow.

Even when he set the latte on the counter and found those familiar blue eyes looking at him, it still didn’t cross his mind. He’d stopped looking for Simon Snow’s face so long ago that he almost didn’t recognize it now.

It was slightly different now, anyway. Less roundness in the cheeks. More stubble on the chin—more than the _none_ he’d had before. He looked like a _man_ now, which was surprising. But not as surprising as the fact that he was _here_ , of all places.

Simon Snow was here, in Baz’s Starbucks, grinning at him like they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. And perhaps that was true, strictly speaking. They were old friends. They hadn’t seen each other in years. But that was such an oversimplification that Baz couldn’t possibly smile back. All he could do was stare in bewilderment as he waited for his heart to start again.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself—still stupefied—but it was involuntary.

“Well, hello to you, too, Basil,” Simon said sarcastically, though he kept the grin on his face.

Baz couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even process this. It felt like his stomach was sinking down towards his feet as his ribcage was closing in on his lungs. He’d spent three years trying to forget about everything, and yet here Simon was, haunting him. “Fuck,” Baz said under his breath, right before he made a run for it.

Abandoning his post, he quickly walked out from behind the counter and went straight for the door. He didn’t stop until he was out in the fresh air and standing, doubled over forward, in front of the patch of wall between Starbucks and the next shop, while holding his arms against his stomach. There was a very good possibility, he figured, that he was about to be sick.

“You alright, Baz?”

Baz forced himself upright and leaned against the brick wall behind him, just trying to breathe, as Simon stood a couple feet away and watched him with a concerned expression. “Yes,” Baz managed to say tersely, once he no longer felt like his breakfast was trying to make an encore appearance.

Simon raise a skeptical eyebrow. “You sure?”

“What are you even doing here, Snow?” Baz said as his breath started to flow a bit easier.

“Latte,” Simon replied, holding up the paper cup in his hand. He looked down at the top of it for a second, even though it had a lid now. “You did one of those leafy things, too. That was cool.”

“I meant in _London_ ,” Baz said. “Since when have you even been back in the country?”

“Bit more than a year, I guess,” Simon said after giving it a moment of thought. “Wasn’t really much point staying in California after my father…”

 _Shit_. “Right. Sorry.” Baz lowered his head, slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t figured that out himself. “My parents told me what happened; I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I would have offered my condolences at the time,” he continued. “But I wasn’t sure if… I didn’t have a way of reaching you, so…”

“You could have reached me if you tried,” Simon pointed out, and Baz looked over to see him staring at the lid on his cup again.

“You’re right, I’m sorry—”

“It’s not a big deal, anyway,” Simon added, lifting his gaze to meet Baz’s with a small smile. “I’m over it now. Plus there’s the whole _inheritance_ thing, so that’s something.”

Baz thought it was a bit callous for Simon to make a joke like that, but he realized that people dealt with grief in their own ways so he didn’t mention it. “So did your girlfriend move here with you, then?” Baz asked.

Simon frowned like he had no idea what Baz was talking about, and then chuckled. “Oh, no, that was—That was over, like, three months after I moved there.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Are you actually surprised, though?” Simon added, raising that skeptical eyebrow again.

“I don’t know,” Baz said impatiently. “It’s not unprecedented for you to have the same girlfriend for three years, so—”

“That’s not—Never mind,” Simon said with another small chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

Baz looked down at the ground again for a moment before pushing himself away from the wall. “I should get back inside, anyway…”

“Hey, um, do want to come to my friend’s art show tonight?” Simon asked, taking a step to block Baz’s path a little.

“What?” That certainly wasn’t something Baz had ever expected to hear from Simon.

“It’s just a small thing,” Simon clarified. “He’s just got some pieces on display at this little pub kind of place in Camden, and tonight’s like the debut so there’s a bit of a reception thing happening, and you might like it.”

“Thanks, but you don’t need to—”

Simon pulled his mobile out of his pocket and took another step to block Baz’s path again. “I’ll send you the details and then you can decide, yeah? What’s your number?”

Baz stopped and eyed Simon warily, like he thought this might be a prank. But Simon looked genuinely excited about the idea of Baz coming to the _art show_ —Baz still couldn’t believe it—so he sighed and told Simon his number before heading back inside to finish his shift. Assuming he wasn’t fired by now.

Baz wasn’t even sure if he cared about being fired at this point. He had a bigger problem now.

He’d worked so hard to forget, but it was all pointless. Because how do you just forget that the sun exists? Even though Baz had spent three years hiding indoors with the curtains drawn, the sun was always out there. He couldn’t forget that. And now he’d looked right at it. He stared into the sun and it burned.

It’s so hard not to, though. Not to stare at the brightest thing in the sky. When it pulls and pulls and forces you to look. Even though it burns. Even though it will destroy you.

Simon Snow was the sun, and Baz was crashing into him. Again.

***

This would have been the last place Baz ever expected to find Simon, if it hadn’t been Simon who invited him here. This bizarre and eclectic art house/pub hybrid, where everyone was dressed as if the past sixty years of fashion had thrown up on them all at once. Baz wasn’t entirely sure why he actually showed up tonight, either, or what he had been expecting. Not this, at least. Or maybe exactly this.

It wasn’t a huge place—he could see pretty much the whole interior of the space from where he walked in—but it was quite busy. He hesitated in the doorway for a minute, uncertain whether he should keep going or just turn around and leave. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong anywhere that Simon was.

But he swallowed his nerves and made his way in, through the throngs of people, heading for the bar. That was always step one at social events, for Baz. First, get a drink, then look for Simon. As per usual.

He didn’t recognize any of the beers on tap—all of them from small local breweries he’d never heard of—so he picked one at random and planned his next move. Looking for a table, most likely. It didn’t seem like he would be able to get a seat anywhere, at this point, but he managed to find a small, unattended standing table.

Baz decided to snag the table while he had the chance, but kept an eye out for Simon on his way over. It wasn’t until he reached it, though, that Baz spotted him. Sitting with some people over in the corner on a very old-looking sofa of questionable origin, laughing.

Simon was in the middle seat, of course—everyone always wanted to get to sit next to Simon, and this way more people would be able to—leaning forward over a coffee table in front of him like he was trying to hear the person in the chair across from him over all the noise. Then he laughed again and sat back in his seat, and that was when Baz noticed.

The guy sitting next to Simon, reclining like he thought he was the coolest person in the room, had his arm stretched out along the back of the sofa. Right behind Simon. Right behind Simon who was now leaning back against the arm. Right behind Simon who didn’t seem to mind when the arm started to curl around his shoulders.

Simon didn’t seem to mind at all. He just turned to the guy—with a smile on his face, no less—and kissed him.

Baz didn’t know why it was such a shock, really. He obviously knew that Simon had kissed _a guy_ before, but he never realized that Simon ever kissed any guys other than _him_. But that couldn’t have been what surprised him so much, not really. It was more that Simon was kissing a guy _in front of everyone_. He wasn’t hiding it anymore. Which was a good thing, right? Baz was happy for him, finally being okay with himself. Baz was happy.

Baz also wanted to run away and never look back.

He couldn’t handle this. He couldn’t figure it out. Why couldn’t Simon have sorted this out years ago, when he and Baz still had a chance?

But maybe they never really had a chance anyway. _This is all we get_.

Before Baz could plot the quickest way to the exit for himself, Simon happened to look in his direction and he froze—Baz did. Simon’s face just lit up with delight and he waved Baz over to join his cluster. And Baz did.

There weren’t any seats when he got there, so Baz just stood to one side of the coffee table that took up the space between the sofa and two chairs. He gave Simon a polite smile, which was more like a grimace, and took a sip of his drink.

Simon proceeded to introduce his friends to Baz, including the gentleman whose arm was still curled around him. Baz learned that his name was Christoffer, he was from Denmark, and he was the featured artist of the evening. And Baz hated him ferociously.

“Baz and I were in school together,” Simon told the others, to explain how he knew Baz. As if that was enough to cover the breadth of their relationship. As if anything could be enough.

Baz nodded unenthusiastically and continued to just stand there, sipping his drink, while the conversation went on even though he wasn’t really a part of it. This wasn’t really his _scene_. And he could hardly believe that it was Simon’s.

At one point, Christoffer got called away in order to talk to someone who was interested in buying one of his pieces—much to Baz’s surprise—so Simon encouraged Baz to have a seat in the now empty space next to him. So Baz did.

He remained quiet, though, only supplying the occasional half-hearted chuckle when someone told a joke, and such, but never adding more to it. This was not sharing time for Baz.

The first time he spoke all evening was at closing time when he said he should get going.

“Wait, you should come hang out,” Simon said to him, holding onto his arm when Baz shifted forward to stand up.

“Hang out where?” Baz asked skeptically. He didn’t really know why Simon would want to keep hanging out with him anyway, considering what a bore Baz had been this evening.

“There’s going to be a little _post-reception reception_ , of sorts.” Simon raised his eyebrows, challenging Baz to come with him.

Baz accepted.

***

_What am I doing here?_

Baz collapsed further back into his seat on the sofa, this time located in Christoffer’s flat, as a small handful of the people from the reception gathered in the living room for a _post-reception reception_ , as Simon called it. If sitting around on used furniture and smoking pot can even be called a _reception_.

Baz wouldn’t normally have stayed—he wasn’t really into that stuff so much—but Simon forced him to. Actually, all that Simon had said was, “Stay for a bit,” and that was enough to keep Baz tethered to his seat. He refused to _partake in the merriment_ , though, and after a while he’d developed such a headache that he knew it would be best for him to leave. But he didn’t.

He just sat there, taking pleasure in the sound of Simon’s uninhibited laughter, soaking up the warmth coming off Simon’s side as he sat next to him, and relishing every time Simon’s arm accidentally brushed against his. Baz realized that he was undoing all those years of hard work he’d done in order to move past his obsession with Simon Snow, though. The obsession that consumed his teenage years and ruined his first relationship—accidentally saying Simon’s name in bed hadn’t been Baz’s finest hour, certainly—now threatened to infiltrate his adulthood and potentially stunt any emotional growth from now on. But he found it hard to care, at this moment.

Especially when Simon asked him to stay.

Most of the people who remained, by this point, were getting hungry and thought that a late night—or early morning, technically—full English breakfast sounded like a great idea. Baz didn’t even know it was possible to find a place like that open at this time, but apparently it was. He had no interest in joining, though, so he was just going to head home for the night. Until Simon asked him to stay.

Simon asked Baz to stay behind while the others left—Christoffer didn’t even seem to care that Simon didn’t want to join them—and so Baz did. He stayed and they talked.

They talked about the things they’d been up to over the past few years, like they were old pals catching up with a friendly chat. Except it wasn’t like that at all. It could never be like that.

When Simon got up to put the kettle on for some tea, casually strolling across the flat like he’d done it a million times, a troubling thought struck Baz and he was unable to keep himself from blurting it out. “Snow, do you _live_ here?”

“No,” Simon replied, glancing back briefly as he picked up the kettle over at the kitchenette on the far wall. “Not really. I dunno.”

“You don’t know if you live here?”

“I’m in between flats at the moment.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Baz asked, more confused than ever.

Simon leaned back against the countertop and sighed, like he wasn’t sure where to begin with his tale. “The short version,” he eventually said, “is that my old housing arrangement fell through and I’m still looking for a new one.”

Baz frowned skeptically. “So what the fuck does _that_ mean, then?”

“It means the person who was _financing_ my living situation decided to cut his funding and kick me out,” Simon said pointedly, like he didn’t want to be asked about it anymore.

That didn’t stop Baz from asking. “You had someone else paying your rent? Who?”

Simon just shuffled a bit and looked down at his feet.

“Look, I’m not—I’m not criticizing you,” Baz added, softening his tone. “My father still pays mine, at least for now. So I’m in no position to judge.”

Simon shrugged and kept head down until the kettle boiled, and then went about making tea in a couple of mismatched mugs. He let out a small chuckle as he carried the mugs back over to where Baz was still sitting. “Do you remember when we used to talk about what kind of house we would live in when we grew up?”

Baz leaned forward to take one of the mugs and set it on the coffee table in front of him as Simon sat down again. “We were going to get attached houses,” Baz said, smiling wistfully.

“With a shared back garden so our kids could play together.”

“I think we also wanted to connect the attics, didn’t we?”

“Oh yeah!” Simon said enthusiastically. “We were gonna use the space up there for playing video games and reading comics and doing the things we thought our wives wouldn’t want us to.”

Baz side-eyed Simon before they both burst out laughing.

“Can you believe we thought that’s what our lives were gonna be like?” Simon added.

“We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, Simon,” Baz said jokingly. “It could still happen.”

Simon laughed again.

Baz smiled and shook his head. “Our poor wives…”

“It sounds nice, though, doesn’t it?” Simon said after a minute, though his demeanour was more solemn as he looked back at Baz.

“Having wives?”

“Having each other again.”

“As neighbours?” Baz said, lowering his head a little.

“As friends,” Simon clarified. “Or… something.”

“What does _something_ mean?” Baz asked as he turned to once again face Simon, who was searching Baz’s face like he was also hoping for an answer.

“Whatever you want it to mean, Baz,” he said seriously.

Baz locked eyes with him for a moment and then looked away quickly.

“Baz…” Simon placed his hand on Baz’s knee, and Baz eyed him suspiciously. “You can have whatever you want. It’s different now.”

“What’s different now?”

“ _Everything_.”

“How is _everything_ different?” Baz said with a bitter edge in his voice. “Congratulations on finally _coming out_ , or whatever, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Why not?”

“First off, you’re living with that poncy artist now, and second—”

“Temporarily,” Simon cut in. “I’ll find my own place soon.”

“Okay, but you’re in a relationship with him, aren’t you?”

Simon frowned a little. “No.”

“I _saw_ you kiss him at the art show,” Baz said impatiently.

“Yeah, well, it’s not that straight-forward.”

“What is it, then, hm?”

“It’s not a big deal, Baz,” Simon said as he slumped back against the cushions behind him.

“So he’s cool with you and me fooling around in his flat?” Baz scoffed.

“We’re not in a _relationship_. I already told you that,” Simon replied. “We just sleep together sometimes. And sometimes we sleep with other people. And sometimes the same other people at once.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Baz muttered as he leaned forward and pressed his palms against his eyes, his headache suddenly feeling much worse.

“What, you never have group sex?” Simon said condescendingly.

“No!” Baz looked back over his shoulder at Simon with incredulity for a second before staring forward at the coffee table.

Simon sat forward again and mirrored Baz’s pose. “Haven’t you ever been curious, though?”

Baz shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “Not particularly.”

“It feels good, though,” Simon added, and then turned his head to look at Baz again. “To please so many people; to be wanted by them. To give them what they want from me.”

Baz met his eyes and frowned, because they seemed so much sadder than his words let on. “Why do you need to please everyone all the time, Snow?” Baz asked, though his voice was softer than before.

Simon seemed a bit surprised by the question. “What’s so wrong with that?” he said in a defensive tone. “It feels good to make people happy.”

“By fucking them, you mean?”

“Sometimes!”

Baz dropped his head again, pressing against it for a minute before getting up to leave. He couldn’t do this. The way he felt about Simon was too much for Simon’s lifestyle, and neither of them would ever be satisfied. By friendship or… something.

“Don’t go yet.” Simon tried to hold onto Baz’s arm again but he just pulled it away and kept going. “Come on. What do you want from me, Baz?”

Baz stopped a few steps away and turned to face Simon one last time. “I want you to leave me alone, Simon.”

Simon’s eyes flashed from surprised to hurt to angry in a matter of seconds, but he didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could have said, and they both knew it.

_This is all we get._

***

It had been several weeks since Baz had had any contact with Simon, for which Baz was grateful, but also a little disappointed. Even though he knew it was for the best. He was so tired of getting burned.

So when he got a text from Simon asking for help, he was hesitant about how to respond right away. He wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t respond at all. Or maybe just send a callous, _“too bad.”_ (He didn’t think he could do something quite that cruel, though.)

After a few minutes, however, he broke down and replied to the message. He didn’t really know what to expect when he asked what Simon needed, now, but he never would have guessed _this_. Simon asking to crash at Baz’s place for a couple of nights before his new flat was ready for him to move in.

Baz asked why Simon couldn’t keep staying with his _friend_. Or any other friend, for that matter. But Simon’s answer shook Baz a little. _“I feel safe with you baz.”_

The implication of that sentence disturbed Baz immensely, so he told Simon to come over right away. He could sleep on the sofa, or if Penny didn’t want him in the living room, he could sleep in Baz’s bed and Baz would take the sofa. Or a park bench. Or he’d just sleep on top of a warm grate in the sidewalk. He didn’t really care as long as Simon was safe.

Simon seemed surprisingly upbeat when he arrived at Baz and Penny’s flat, which worried Baz a little, considering he’d been pacing nervously around the flat until Simon got there. He didn’t want to pry too much about what was going on, though, not right away, so he just let Simon in and introduced him to Penny—Baz had already given her a heads up about the situation—before going to put the kettle on.

The tea was just about done steeping when Penny joined Baz in the kitchen.

“Don’t trust me to make a pot of tea by myself, Bunce?” Baz joked when she walked in.

“Not really,” Penny replied with a sarcastic smile. “No, I just told your friend that the Oaties from Aldi are better than actual HobNobs, and he doesn’t believe me, so I want to bring some out and prove it.”

“But they _aren’t_ better.”

“I think they are. Plus, they’re a hell of a lot cheaper.”

Baz just smirked and started pouring while Penny rummaged through one of the cupboards.

“So,” she added once she was holding a half-empty package of oat biscuits in her hand, “I suppose he’s the famous Simon Snow from your childhood, yes?”

“I suppose he is,” Baz replied, tensing his jaw a little. He’d mentioned Simon to Penny frequently enough in the past that she knew he was bad news for Baz. This whole time he’d been waiting for her to lecture him about what a terrible idea this all was.

She leaned against the refrigerator and nodded slowly. “He’s cute.”

“I suppose he is,” Baz repeated.

“And I think he’s a bit high.”

Baz looked at her questioningly. “On what?”

Penny shrugged. “It’s just a hunch.”

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, pushing his hands into the counter top.

“I still don’t mind if he stays here, as long as he doesn’t do any of that stuff in our flat.”

“He won’t.” Baz sounded certain about it, but he wasn’t really.

“Okay,” Penny said, nodding again. “Well, I’m heading out in a minute, but if you need me to come back or something—”

“I’m not going to interrupt your date, don’t worry.”

“It’s not a _date_ ,” she said, though she was looking away in embarrassment.

“I won’t wait up, anyway,” Baz said with another smirk before following her back to the living room with the tea.

Penny stayed long enough to get Simon’s verdict on the Oaties—not bad, apparently—and took off for her _not-a-date_ , leaving Baz and Simon sitting in awkward silence for a minute. They kept looking back and forth from opposite ends of the sofa, scrutinizing each other’s face. Baz was looking for signs that Simon was on something, and Simon was looking for… something.

“You got glasses!” he exclaimed, sitting back in his seat like he could finally relax after solving that mystery.

Baz involuntarily adjusted the frames on his face and looked away shyly. “Yeah, a couple years ago.”

“Wait, were you wearing them the other day?” Simon added, frowning like he was trying to remember.

“Contacts,” Baz said. “I usually only wear these around the flat.”

“How come?” Simon asked curiously.

Baz faced him again. “I don’t really like them.”

“They look good on you, though.”

“Yeah, they hide more of my face,” Baz said with a sarcastic chuckle.

Simon started scrutinizing Baz’s face again before reaching over and taking his glasses off. Then he put them back on. Then took them off. And back on. “No, you look good either way,” he said, and then grinned like he thought he was hilarious.

“Snow, did you take something?” Baz said, squinting at Simon to see how enlarged his pupils were.

Simon shrugged but kept grinning.

Baz let out a small, exasperated groan. “What was it?”

“It was just a little,” Simon replied, his smile fading in response to Baz’s tone of disappointment.

“A little _what_ , Snow?”

“ _Snow_ ,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. He only managed a few seconds before breaking into laughter.

“What are you— _oh for fuck’s sake, Simon!_ ” Baz said, his confusion turning to anger once he figured out what Simon was saying. He combed back the hair that had fallen around his face and huffed. “Why are you even here right now?”

“You said I could come over,” Simon said.

“Because you said you needed my help,” Baz pointed out angrily. “ _Christ_. I’m an idiot.”

“I do need your help, Baz. I don’t have anywhere to stay right now.”

Baz glared at Simon with impatience. “Why not?”

Simon’s expression grew more sombre and he looked down at his fidgeting hands. “My living situation changed suddenly.”

“What happened?”

He looked back at Baz and shrugged, a small smile on his face. “The usual.”

“Meaning _what_ , exactly?” Baz asked, tired of having to ask twenty questions to get one answer.

“Meaning he got bored of me,” Simon said, still smiling, though Baz could tell that the smile was hiding sadness behind it. “They always get bored of me.”

“Who’re _they,_ Simon?” Baz said, less accusatory than before.

“ _All of them_ ,” Simon said in the way one might talk about aliens. He snickered.

Baz felt his chest getting tighter as worry started to build up more inside him. He didn’t know what the hell was going on with Simon, but he did not have a very good feeling about whatever it was. “Simon,” he said, taking a deep breath, “you told me before that you feel safe with me. Do you not feel safe other places right now?”

Simon just pinched his lips together and shrugged again.

Baz reached over and held onto Simon’s restless hands with his own. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked seriously. When Simon didn’t meet his gaze, Baz squeezed his hands a little more. “Simon? Please tell me what’s going on.”

“I just need a place to crash for a bit,” Simon answered quietly, then looked up and locked eyes with Baz. “And I need someone to—I dunno, I just need someone.”

Baz held onto Simon’s gaze for a minute before crumbling towards him, wrapping him into a hug, because he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help Simon. Baz felt powerless, yet again, even though now more than ever he knew he needed to be strong. If not for himself, then at least for Simon.

But he felt so very weak.

Simon nestled his face against Baz’s shoulder and hugged him back. “I’m sorry, Baz,” he mumbled.

“Simon…” Baz said, pushing his mouth into Simon’s hair. “You don’t have to be sorry for this. You don’t…” He planted a kiss on Simon’s head, and then on the side of his face when Simon lifted it closer. “It’s okay, Simon. It’s…”

Baz let his words trail off as Simon turned his face more towards him, and then placed another kiss on Simon’s cheek. And on the corner of his mouth. And right on his lips.

It was just a gentle peck, just a token of Baz’s everlasting affection for Simon, but Simon gave him one back. And another. And another. Each time pushing slightly harder than the last, until their mouths opened together and it became something else. Long, deliberate kisses and slow moving hands, as they properly felt each other for the first time in years—or for the first time ever, perhaps. Baz could have stayed like that forever, he thought.

But Simon, seemingly, could not.

Things began heating up quickly as Simon urged Baz back in his seat and climbed onto his lap. But Baz didn’t think that he should let things escalate any further.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asked, looking crushed, when Baz pulled away.

“I just don’t think this is a good idea,” Baz told him, helping Simon down off his lap, though Simon seemed reluctant.

He placed a hand around the back of Baz’s neck and drew him in for another kiss. “I thought this was what you always wanted.”

“This—This isn’t what I want,” Baz said, taking hold of Simon’s hand and moving it away.

“Bored of me already?” Simon replied, smirking like it was a joke, but he sounded hurt.

“No, Simon, that’s not—”

“I can do anything you want me to,” he added, more sincerely. He leaned in closer again and lowered his voice. “What you like, Baz? I’ll do whatever you like.”

“You’re not thinking clearly right now, Simon,” Baz said as he pushed Simon out of the way slightly so he could lean forward on his elbows, dropping his head into his hands. “I shouldn’t have let any of this happen. I’m sorry.”

“But I want to make you happy, Baz.” Simon got down and crouched on the floor in front of Baz so he could see his face. “Don’t you get it? I can make you happy now.”

“Simon…” Baz said with a weary sigh as Simon started to run his hands up Baz’s thighs. “You don’t need to do this,” he added, grabbing Simon’s wrists.

“But I’m good at it.” Simon stared up at him with an earnest expression. “This is the only sort of stuff I’m good at, Baz.”

Baz’s stomach plummeted when it clicked for him what Simon was talking about, and he shot up up out of his seat to start pacing. “Shit, fuck— _what?_ Simon, you’re— _fuck!_ ” he said, running his hands through his hair repeatedly.

Simon stood, too, staring at Baz like he was pained, though he soon turned angry and clenched his fists at his side. “I’m _what_ , Baz? Am I too _fucked up_ for you?”

“Maybe you are, Simon!” Baz replied loudly, as panic was starting to creep in. He regretted saying it instantly, but he didn’t have time to apologize before he felt a familiar shove against his chest, and he staggered back against the wall. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Simon, I didn’t—”

Simon gave him another shove, this time pinning him back again. “Maybe you _like_ that I’m so fucked up, huh, Baz?” he said, nearly shouting. He fought off Baz’s attempts to push him away and pushed his body forcefully against him, like he had before. “Do you like me better like this, Baz? Fighting you? Is _this_ what you like?”

“Simon, please, don’t—”

Simon pushed his forearm into Baz’s clavicle to hold him to the wall while holding the side of Baz’s head with the other hand. “How do you want me to be, Baz?” he asked angrily. “You can have whatever you want, now! _Take it!_ ”

“I don’t want this!” Baz said, on the verge of breaking. He knew that something wasn’t all right with Simon but he had no idea what it was, and it terrified him. “I don’t want you—not like this.”

“ _Why not?_ ”

“Because this isn’t really you, Simon!”

“How do you know, _Baz?_ ” Simon yelled, increasing his grip around Baz’s neck. “You haven’t known me since we were thirteen, you don’t know that this isn’t really me! You don’t know _anything!_ ”

“That’s because _you_ stopped telling me things!” Baz tried to yell back as he strained to get his neck free. “You came back from California that year and you—”

It was as if a bucket of ice had been dropped down Baz’s spine when he noticed the way fear flickered across Simon’s face at the word _California_.

_No._

“Simon,” Baz said, much more quietly, his voice cracking a little. “What happened?”

Simon’s arms were shaking, with rage or fear or both, until he couldn’t hold them up anymore and he let them drop to his sides as he slumped his head forward against Baz. “I fucked everything up,” he whispered.

“No, Simon… Why do you think you fucked everything up?” Baz asked, wrapping his arms around Simon once more, gently, only holding him as close as Simon seemed to want. Which was pretty close.

“All the stuff that happened,” Simon said, slightly muffled against Baz’s jumper. “Everything he did to me…”

Baz stopped breathing, completely frozen in place for a moment. _No_.

“I let it happen,” Simon added.

“ _What?_ ” Baz said once he could breathe again, but that was nearly all it was; a breath.

Simon lifted his head to look Baz in the eye, tears starting to fill both of theirs. “I could have stopped him but I didn’t.”

“Fuck, _no_ , Simon, you—It’s not your fault that— _Fuck!_ ” Baz was crying now and he couldn’t stop, but he held onto Simon like he was trying to protect him with his life—he would have if he could have—and Simon held him back, like Baz was the only thing that could keep him from being swept downstream.

Simon needed an anchor now.

***

Baz ended up letting Simon sleep in his bed, since he was crashing and needed a good night’s rest. But Simon wouldn’t let Baz leave him. So Baz stayed and held him until they both fell asleep.

 _Maybe_ , Baz thought as he was drifting off, _this is just a nightmare_.

He wanted to wake up and find that none of this was real, that he would just forget everything. Because, with the things he knew now—not _everything_ , but enough—he wasn’t sure where to go from there. When he woke up with Simon curled up against him, though, it was like finding out all over again. The horror washed over Baz again, and he squeezed Simon closer because there was nothing else he could do.

Well, maybe there was one thing Baz could do. He could fly to California and kill Simon’s father’s _business associate_ , for starters. Life in prison for murder would be a small price to pay, Baz thought. But it still wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t undo what had been done.

It wouldn’t give Baz his Simon back.

_I’m sorry, Simon._

Baz stroked back Simon’s hair while he continued to sleep for a while; even though it was quite early in the morning, Baz couldn’t get back to sleep. He wasn’t sure how long it had been—an hour? Three?—but he eventually got up to use the bathroom, and ran into Penny in the hallway on his way back.

She asked if Simon had left already, since she hadn’t seen him in the living room when she got back in last night.

“He’s in my room,” Baz said, and then shook his head when he saw Penny raise her eyebrows skeptically. “It’s not like that, it’s—Shit, I don’t even know what’s going to happen now.”

Her face shifted to concern. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. I mean, yes, technically. I’m fine, but Simon’s… having a hard time.” He didn’t want to tell her everything just yet. It wasn’t really his place to tell her, anyway, he felt.

Penny just nodded sympathetically and let Baz return to his room, where Simon was sitting up a little in the bed.

“Hey,” Baz said quietly as he walked over. He didn’t get back in the bed, though. He just stood next to it as Simon sat more upright, leaning against the headboard.

“I thought you’d left,” Simon replied, keeping his head and his voice lowered sadly.

Baz took a seat at the edge of the bed, near Simon’s feet. “I’m not going to leave,” he told Simon. “I already told my supervisor I’m sick and can’t come into work today, and—”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Simon cut in, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I want to be here for you today, Simon.”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “Why?”

“Because I’m your friend,” Baz said, frowning in concern when Simon looked over at him sadly.

“Are you, though?”

“Of course, I am.”

Simon shook his head as bit as he lowered it again. “I shouldn’t have told you any of the stuff that—”

“It was good that you told me, Simon,” Baz said seriously. “Have you told anyone else, though?”

“Like who?”

“Anyone! Your mum? A therapist?”

“I don’t need a _therapist_ , Baz,” Simon said, grumbling a little as he ruffled his hand in his hair. “I’m fine.”

“You think this is _fine_?” Baz asked, with a slightly frustrated inflection in his voice.

Simon fixed him with a stern glare. “What do you think I am, then?”

“I think you’re in pain, Simon.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Simon insisted. “I got over it. I’m living my life.”

“Are you though?” Baz asked, and Simon’s expression hardened. “It seems like you’re just doing whatever other people want you do. You let people use you, Simon.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed and he pushed his jaw forward, smouldering in anger. “ _Fuck you_ , Baz,” he said. “You don’t even know me.”

“I didn’t mean it like—I just, I think you need some help—”

“I don’t need anything,” Simon added, sliding himself down to the side of the bed so he could get out.

“Simon, what are you doing?” Baz asked, standing up after him.

“Leaving.” Simon left the room and headed for the front door, Baz following shortly behind.

“Wait, Simon—” Baz tried to hold Simon’s arm but Simon jerked it back and scowled at him.

“You’re not my friend, Baz. So _piss off_.”

“Why did you come to _me_ , then?” Baz asked as he Simon pulled his shoes on. “If I’m not your friend then why did you come here?”

Simon stood tall again and stared Baz down. “To let you use me, I guess,” he said with bitter sarcasm beforeopening the door to leave.

“Just stay and talk to me, Simon,” Baz pleaded, but he didn’t dare attempt to physically hold Simon back this time.

“I can’t. I just—I have to go.”

Baz watched Simon leave, even taking a step out into the corridor outside his flat as Simon walked away. “I’m sorry, Simon,” he said, only loud enough for himself to hear it. He waited until Simon disappeared around the corner before Baz headed back into his flat. He wasn’t surprised that Simon didn’t look back.

Simon never looked back.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit that I don't like the ending to this one as much as the first because it feels much less resolved, but I wanted to split up this part and the next one because the next one is probably going to be Simon's side of things, so it made sense to break things up.
> 
> Also, I'm going to be super obnoxious and mention that I have a tumblr now for my _Carry On_ shenanigans, [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com), so feel free to befriend me over there because I am so lonely.


End file.
